When Monk Met Johnny
by Silver and Black
Summary: Johnny teams up with Monk and Sharona to create a new crimefighting team.


Disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did! If I did I'd be rich! This is the first time I'm writing in the _Monk_ fandom, so be nice to me. In preparation for a massive crossover between _The Dead Zone, Stargate: SG-1, _and _Star Wars, _I will be slowly introducing concepts from the _Star Wars _mythos, (i.e. the Force). I love reviews and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated. So, campers, it's time to sit back, relax, and enjoy the first _Monk_/_Dead Zone_ crossover!

When Monk Met Johnny

By: Silver and Black

Captain Leland Stottlemeyer stared at the phone as if willing it to ring. He'd been sitting like that for the good part of two hours. In fact, he was starting to drift off to sleep, when suddenly it started to ring, abruptly dragging him out of his reverie. He grabbed the receiver off the hook before the fourth, final ring. "Captain Stottlemeyer, San Francisco PD. Who is this," he said drowsily, stifling a yawn.

"Walt Bannerman of the Penobscot County Sheriff's Office. I hear you need someone to work with your police department in a consultant capacity and I know someone who'd be perfect for the job."

"Any one I know?"  
"Not really. His name is Johnny Smith and he used to be a high school chemistry teacher. Now he works with us as a consultant, helping us solve our cases. He's good and very professional. I haven't gotten a single complaint about him from the officers. Johnny was in a near-fatal car accident and fell into a coma for the next six years. After he woke up, he found out that he had psychic abilities. All he has to do is touch a person to know all their secrets. His visions have allowed him to help other people."  
"When can he come to California, Sheriff?"  
"Any time you want him. We don't have any cases pending."  
"I look forward to meeting him and I hope he's as good as you say he is."

"He's all yours then, Captain."

"Good-bye, Sheriff," he snapped irritably before banging the phone down. Stottlemeyer turned his attention to his computer and typed in his password to enter the National Police Registry. A green "Enter Name" box appeared on the screen. Smith, Johnny, he carefully typed in the box, then hit Enter. A second screen appeared, complete with a photo. There laid out for him to see was everything he ever wanted to know about the former schoolteacher. He scrolled down the screen very carefully as not to miss a single detail.

Name: John "Johnny" Smith

DOB: N/A

Place of Birth: Cleaves Mills, Maine

Place of Residence: Same as above

Parents: Herb and Vera Smith (both deceased)

Siblings/Other Family: None

Age: N/A

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 140

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Blue

Background was just as Walt had said. No jail time and no priors. _Time to call Johnny_, Stottlemeyer thought as he logged himself out.

Dateline: Cleaves Mills, Maine

0600 hrs

Johnny woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He'd been so tired when he'd gone to bed the night before that he'd left his earrings in. It was only now that he was awake that he realized this. He picked up the phone and yawned before answering. "Who is this," he snapped waspishly, causing the person on the other end to wince at his tone.

"Captain Stottlemeyer of the San Francisco PD. Just calling to let you know that if you want it, I have a job for you as a consultant. You'll be doing the same thing you're doing right now for Sheriff Bannerman. When I talked to him he said that he thought that you're qualified for the job. "

"I'm not doing anything right now. I can be there when ever you need me."  
"How about in two or three weeks?"

"I'll be there and a friend might be coming with me."

"Fine, fine, bring your friend."

"I'll talk to him and get back to you. Good bye," Johnny said, more nastily than he'd intended. He banged down the phone a little too forcefully. Grabbing his cane, he used it to lever his slim, lithe body up out of the bed. He ran his powerful, slender fingers across his buzz cut white-blonde hair, still fuming that Bruce had persuaded him to cut it this short. It had been several weeks since he'd closed his latest case and had been thanked in an unusual way for bringing a killer to justice. One of the victims had been a customer at a local tattoo parlor, the manger had told him that if he could catch the person responsible for the young woman's death, he would do work for free and any subsequent work at a deep discount. After bagging the perp, he returned to the young man's shop. To thank him Kali had done the incredible sleeves that now covered the full lengths of his arms. He'd also pierced Johnny's ears. Even although it had been several weeks since, he still hadn't gotten use to either the earrings or tattoos. Johnny limped to the chair where his bathrobe hung, glancing down at his tattoos before donning the robe. In the bathroom, he paused briefly to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't what any one would call gorgeous but he wasn't hideous like the snake-haired Gorgon, Medusa, either. Narrow face like a fox's, high, sharp cheekbones. Pale face almost as white as a geisha's makeup. Blonde hair so light it was nearly white. Strange that he still was a towhead at thirty-four. Eyes an unnatural electric blue. Nose Roman and perfectly straight. Lips full almost like a woman's, mouth hard, cruel. Finished admiring his reflection, Johnny opened the medicine cabinet. The top shelf was dedicated to first aid items such as: bandages, gauze, hydrogen peroxide. Second shelf: medication. Bottom shelf: empty. On that shelf, Johnny put his earrings. He hung his robe on a hook on the back of the door and discarded his boxers in a laundry hamper. The hot water felt good as it sluiced down his body. Muscles sore from his workout yesterday relaxed. Even though he had exercise equipment in his parlor and sun room, he had persuaded Bruce to drive him to the gym. As much as he hated his haircut there was one upside to his hair being this short: washing it was a snap. Before he used to go through shampoo like there was no tomorrow, now he needed a lot less to get his hair clean. Rinsing it out, he grabbed the soap and washed his body with it. Johnny stood under the steaming jets of water until they began to turn cold. Shivering, he quickly turned the knobs and shut off the water. He grabbed his towel, wrapping it around his cold, dripping body. Before leaving the bathroom, teeth were brushed, flossed, earrings were firmly back in his ears. Laying on his bed were today's clothes, a black tank top and boot cut jeans that Bruce had arm twisted him into buying. Johnny quickly pulled on the clothes, slipping his feet into a comfortable pair of sandals. Before grabbing his cane, he limped to a full length mirror in the corner of the room. Standing before it, he looked down at his outfit. The tank top was a little more body-hugging than he would have liked. Thankfully he wasn't overweight or the tank top would have been a fashion error. Instead, it perfectly molded itself to a wonderfully toned torso. The jeans flattered a perfectly flat stomach and strong, slender legs. As he moved slowly, painfully across the room to collect his cane, he groaned at the thought of Dana spending the day trying hard not to drool. No sooner did he imagine that image, a new one popped into Johnny's mind. An image of Sarah. She was a married woman, for crying out loud! If Walt knew that she'd had unholy thoughts upon seeing him dressed like this, he'd hurt her. He snagged his cane and the bug-eyed Oakley sunglasses from their place on the dresser before leaving his bedroom.

When he arrived in the kitchen, he found Bruce sitting on a stool at the

island, eating corn flakes, and watching something on the little color television. He picked up the remote, pushed the mute button. "Good morning, Johnny. Love the outfit, man. It's_ so_ you," his friend said with a sly grin.

"It's not _so _me. Say that again and I'll give you a piece of my cane," Johnny said, his voice oozing sarcasm. Heels clicked on the hardwood floor, heralding the approach of Dana Bright, girl reporter. Johnny went to the stove to put the tea kettle onto boil. From the cabinet he retrieved a tea bag. Darjeeling, his favorite. He sat out on the island a cup and saucer. His girlfriend walked into the kitchen just as he was pouring the water into his cup. Johnny dipped the bag in the cup, dipping it up and down, then gave the bag a quick squeeze. He discarded it in the trash, carefully took a hold of his drink, and then took a seat on the stool next to Bruce.

"Good morning, boys," she said flirtatiously. Her gaze fell upon Johnny, her eyes widening as she took in the tight shirt and jeans. "Hey, big guy. Can I take a ride a ride on your Harley," she purred seductively. Johnny's expression quickly changed from amused to indignant. Bruce thought his friend was about to punch Dana. Just as quickly as his expression shifted to incensed, it shifted to none at all. Electric blue eyes went hard, cold, pale face froze into an inexpressive mask, full lips pressed into a grim slit. The face Dana saw was that of a cold-blooded killer. If she'd met a guy all dressed in black with this look on his face in a dark alley at night, she would run from him screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs. Johnny looked positively murderous. "What's the matter? Get up on the wrong side of the bed," she asked playfully. He didn't respond, just blew on his tea to cool it down. Dana looked at his arm as he lifted the cup to his lips. Not only had her boyfriend been lifting weights, he'd gotten a really cool looking tattoo that went from upper arm to wrist.

"Johnny, when did you get that done?"  
"Several weeks ago, after I finished my last case."

"Where did you get it done," Dana asked, now fully in reporter mode.

"Kali's." The rest of their conversation preceded more like an interview than a normal conversation.

"I got a phone call this morning from Captain Stottlemeyer, offering me a job as a consultant," Johnny said, downing the rest of the now lukewarm tea.

"Where's this job?"  
"California."  
"I've _always_ wanted to go there," Dana said dreamily.

"Bruce, I want you to come with me. If you can," Johnny said, ignoring Dana's comment.

"Wish I could but I'm going to be a working stiff. The hospital needs warm bodies."

"Dana, how about you?"  
"I can't go either. I've got to work, too. It would have been fun. Perhaps some other time."

"You'll at least take me to the airport. Won't you, Bruce?"

"Yeah, sure, I will." Johnny rose up from his stool, grabbed his cane, and took his cup and saucer to the sink. He ran some water over both then loaded them in the dishwasher. Then he returned to his stool. "I have never told anyone this, but I have abilities other than the ones everyone knows about. They have been with me all my life. My parents noticed them when I was a small child. They promised me that when I got older, they'd seek someone who would train me in their use. Before they could find someone, my father died. After his death, she never again talked about having me trained. When I tried to ask her about their source, she clammed up. She took the secret of my abilities to the grave," he said after a brief silence. Their curiosity had been piqued.

"What kind of abilities," Dana and Bruce asked, almost as one.

"I can sense emotions. I can heal myself. At times, I have visions. By channeling the energy that is the source of my abilities, I can summon objects, push them away, or hurl them. Watch this." Johnny stretched out his hand and his cane flew into his open hand. With a gesture of his other hand, a plate sailed through the air to smash against a wall.


End file.
